


All Is Love

by Vrunka



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, One Shot, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sledge wakes up on the lawn with no real memory of the night before. Snafu is more amused than helpful. In other words, a normal weekend for the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Is Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the same verse as "Better". This one is more nsfw though. Again, this is based off the characters from the show and no disrespect is meant.

The morning sunlight plays off of the grass, catching in the beads of dew and reflecting back in a hundred colors. A thousand. Eugene turns his head and sighs considers the boy laying mere feet from him. The way the sun seems to hug his skin. Their fingers are touching through the grass, just barely, tips brushing and meeting and perfect. Eugene uses his other hand to wipe at his nose, loathe at the thought of removing his finger from such an intimate setting, so rare a moment with someone as emotionally stilted as Snafu Shelton. He does not remember the night before. But he can only assume they’ve been out here since then.

And what are a few more minutes? He closes his eyes, lets the morning sounds wash over him, serene and wonderful. He can feel his blood thrumming and pulsing, orbiting with his conscious around the area of his hand, that offending fingertip. It is maddening, being so close without some acknowledgement, some something. Without thinking or opening his eyes, he pushes his hand out further, not a subtle movement, this, no feigned sleep-motion. His hand grasps forward, towards Snafu’s, fingers curling over their target once it is reached. Gripping hard, then relaxing, resting over Snafu’s. It is enough for Eugene. This quiet morning moment in the grass. The explanation of how they’ve gotten here, or even where here is, can wait for later. For after, when Snafu is awake, his hand reclaimed as his own and the incident shuffled away.

But for now, he has this. This all to himself. His finger absently traces over Snafu’s knuckles, not moving so much as shifting, memorizing. Should Shelton wake up, and find them in this position, the motion could be unconscious. Could be. The tracing lulls Eugene back into a half-dose, wrapping him up in the distant call of the birds and the warmth of the morning’s spring sun. His mind drifts. The slight motion of his finger ceases.

It is then, when he is sure that Eugene is asleep, that Snafu dares to move. To shift his own hand in Eugene’s, arching his wrist so he can intertwine their fingers. His action is slow enough, gentle enough, that Eugene does not wake up. He will eventually, Snafu knows. And when he does, he’ll probably figure their fingers tangled in their sleep. And that’s enough for Snafu. Knowing and believing, and the quiet moments in between.

****

“’What happened last night?’” Snafu drawls, smiling lightly over the words. Like he remembers all of it and Eugene is just some sort of idiot who missed the joke. But all of Snafu’s smiles are like that, so Eugene doesn’t let it bother him. Instead he turns his attention to the sad excuse for eggs that the dining hall has put out for breakfast.

Eugene had woken up twenty minutes or so after Snafu had intertwined their fingers, though he had no idea about that. All he knew was that Snafu’s hand in his was warm and right and that he absolutely had to move this time. Because it was time to. So he’d removed his hand from Snafu’s, hating himself the entire time. The motion had been enough to wake Snafu and though the Cajun had smiled at him in that slow, knowing way, Eugene had ignored him. Had instead set about the task of figuring out where they were. It wasn’t that much of a mystery, honestly. As soon as he’d gotten his mind off of Snafu enough to actually look at his surroundings, he’d realized that they were right outside the science buildings. It was a short jaunt from there to the cafeteria and Eugene was thrilled to find they were just in time for breakfast.

“You mean to tell me, Sledgehamma’, that you don’t remember anything?” Snafu smiles again, more genuinely teasing this time and crosses his arms on the table. Balances his chin on his forearms.

Eugene shrugs. He pushes the mushy fare around with his fork and considers what he can remember from the night before. “I’m not hungover. So I guess I wasn’t that drunk.”

Snafu’s nose wrinkles at the thought, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He seems pleased with the power position he’s in. Eugene tries not to let the thought bother him like it does, but there’s little use in it. Snafu is acting like the cat that ate the canary, more so than usual. And he can’t help the sinking feeling he has in his gut. Something more than the usual drunken shenanigans occurred last night, though Eugene cannot for his life figure out what that something is. He’ll either have to play Snafu’s game until the Cajun bores of it, or he’ll have to get over it. He sets himself firmly on the get over it track, and proceeds to choke down his breakfast.

But Snafu has never been one to give up easily, and seeing that Eugene is tiring of the subject, he decides to throw him some bait. He begins to hum, quietly at first, but steadily gaining in volume until Eugene looks at him sharply. “What are you doing?” He asks. Snafu sits up, shrugging, leaning back in his chair without breaking his tune. He reaches what he considers to be the end of a stanza and shrugs again.

“Just humming, Gene.” He says like it’s nothing at all. “It bother you?” He doesn’t wait for Eugene’s response, but picks up humming again, starting in on the chorus.

“No.” Eugene says over him, though quietly. “It doesn’t bother me, it’s just,” he bites his lip and considers the tune, the half-off-key notes, “What song is that?”

“Uhn-uh.” Snafu shakes his head, his smile positively glowing. “Not telling you, Sledgehamma’, you gotta guess.” He holds his hand out with three fingers up. “You get three.”

“Three guesses?”

Snafu hums another bar, his expression not dropping. “That’s right. Three.”

“I could probably just get Andy to tell me what happened, you know. Or Malarkey. Or Babe.” Eugene counters, naming the usual suspects in Friday drinking extravaganzas. But Snafu shakes his head again, curls bouncing with the motion.

“You could. But you won’t. And they wouldn’t know anyway.”

Eugene squints at Snafu, gauging his expression. “I remember them being there. Early on.” He swallows when Snafu chuckles. “Well, they were.”

“Sure. During the tequila. But then we polished that off and they went out looking for some more action. Headed out to that bar, left us alone with that bottle of Nixon’s Vat that I stole two weeks ago. Remember? On a dare from Muck.” Eugene remembers this clearly, remembers how vibrant and alive Snafu had seemed, precious bottle of Vat 69 tucked under his arm, stashed under his bed and the furious texts that followed when Nixon realized someone had usurped one of his bottles and replaced it with Captain Morgan’s coconut rum. Snafu had never stepped forward and Muck had never tattled and somehow the whole affair had just blown over. It wasn’t like Nixon didn’t have a stockpile of that stuff stored away all over, like a squirrel with its nuts.  
So they had drunk the stolen Vat 69, that made sense, though Eugene can’t remember doing it. It fits. He vaguely remembers the tequila, Luz shirtless and smiling and offering to let him do a body shot. But he had looked at Snafu, sitting in the corner, terribly alone despite all the others in the room with them, and Snafu had been looking right at him and he had said no.

Snafu sees that Eugene is putting the pieces together, but he knows they aren’t the right pieces and he snaps his fingers to get his attention again. Eugene meets his gaze and Snafu holds up three fingers again, smiling. “Three guesses, Sledgehamma’. Not as good as three wishes I guess.”

“What?” Gene asks, studying Snafu’s face.

Snafu waves the gaze off, his expression shifting from serious to his normal mysterious, half-smile. “Forget it. Three guesses. Starting now.”

Eugene quirks his eyebrows and returns the smile. “There’s a time limit on my guesses now, too? That hardly seems fair.” But Snafu isn’t listening to him, he’s humming again, quieter and not at all the same tune as earlier but the theme from Jeopardy now, tapping out a beat on the table top with his three fingers. Eugene wonders if that’s the hand he woke up holding this morning. How it could turn against him so easily. “Black Keys?” He says quickly, as Snafu’s humming crescendos, knowing it isn’t the right answer but that they are one of the few bands Snafu listens to. Hoping that Snafu will just take pity on him and tell him what happened instead of going about it in this roundabout manner.

Snafu frowns comically at the guess. Drops a finger dramatically. “One down. Keep playing?”

“Will you just tell me if I say ‘no’?” Eugene asks, already wracking his brain for his next guess, knowing that Snafu won’t just drop it.

“Not quite.”

“Modest Mouse?” Another throw. A hopeless guess.

Snafu wrinkles his nose again, drops a second finger and shakes his head. “You know, if you actually thought about the question, Sledgehamma’, instead of just trying to name bands you think I like, you’d probably do better at this game.” Eugene sighs, knowing Snafu is right, that he has a point, but some small part of his mind insists that he really doesn’t want to remember what occurred last night. What left them tired enough to sleep outside of the lecture halls rather than return to their dorms. Some whirlwind of alcoholism.

He closes his eyes and actually tries to think. The half-remembered notes Snafu had hummed so purposefully. Eugene opens his eyes, suddenly, dreading the answer as it comes to him. “It’s Vanessa Carlton, isn’t it?” He says, wincing at Snafu’s self-satisfied smile. “I found a karaoke night?”

Snafu chuckles, steals a forkful of eggs off of Eugene’s plate. “Close. Rock Band contest in the Commons. Signed yourself up as the one man band MC Sledgehamma’. They told you that you couldn’t be a one man band, and you said some very rude things, stole the microphone and performed a lovely rendition of A Thousand Miles. To be honest, I didn’t think anybody would remember that song. But you knew every lyric. And you have a really wonderful mezzo.”

Eugene covers his eyes with his hands, sinking down to rest his chin on the table. He pretends like Snafu’s laughter bothers him more than it does, but he cannot bring himself to be really mad. He uncovers his eyes and is surprised to find himself face-to-face with Snafu, who has lowered his head, mimicking Eugene’s stance. Eugene smiles despite himself. “Did I really do that?”

Snafu nods without lifting his head, the edges of his mouth curling up slightly. “You did all that and more, Sledgehamma’. All that and more.” But he won’t tell him anything else. Because after Snafu managed to get the microphone back to the guy running the contest and muttered a stuttering apology over Eugene who was still singing, though he had moved on quickly from Vanessa Carlton to Sara Bareillis, and actually maneuvered the two of them out of the Commons before the event coordinator called the cops; Eugene had turned to him, looking pleased as punch with himself, and had proclaimed quite blankly that he loved Snafu. Loved him for real and forever.

And, yes, by that point there had been little question in Snafu’s mind as to the sobriety of his partner in crime. But the sincerity the words were delivered with still made something in Snafu’s chest clench. Because although words like ‘love’ aren’t terribly high on Snafu’s chosen vocabulary list, he’s pretty sure that that’s what is happening. That he’s falling in love. As stupid and sappy and terrible as that is. And, yes, it was Eugene who muttered the word last night, had initiated the touch of their hands this morning, but Snafu is pretty sure the actual word ‘love’ is far from his vocabulary, too. And the whole affair makes his head hurt.

Eugene sighs, picks his head up. “What time is it?” He asks, ready for the subject change, sensing in some way that Snafu has divulged all the information he’s going to. Perhaps it really is for the best.

Snafu drums his fingers on the tabletop. “It’s Saturday.” He states, like it answers anything. He is eyeing Eugene’s eggs and Eugene takes the hint, pushing the plate with the half-eaten slop over.

“Knock yourself out.” He says, standing when the motion is completed. “I’m going to go change.”

Snafu smiles over a mouthful of the eggs, fork stuck out of his mouth at an odd angle. “Sho’ thing, Sledgehamma’.” He mumbles through the food, swallowing it down before adding, “Call me when you’re done?”

“Why would I do that?” Eugene asks. Not that he hadn’t intended to. His Saturdays have pretty much evolved into ‘hang with Snafu days’. His every day has pretty much evolved into that, honestly. The only time he isn’t with Snafu is when he is in class or sleeping, and he seems to be doing less of both these days, the draw of both activities paling in comparison to just hanging out with Snafu.

Snafu’s smile turns wicked at the question. “Cuz I still need you. And I still miss you.” 

“Don’t do this.” Eugene mutters, interjecting himself into the stanza but Snafu isn’t listening is too far gone to stop and for some reason Eugene cannot get his legs to move.

“And now I wonder,” he sings, accent throwing off the rhythm something awful, “if I could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by? Cuz you know I’d walk a thousand miles if I could just see you,” Snafu pauses a beat and Eugene think maybe he’s done, but then he continues, “if I could just hold you tonight.” His last note dissolves into laughter and Eugene is having trouble breathing through his blush. The other few patrons of the dining hall are staring at them openly.

The stares make Eugene even more embarrassed. He utters something under his breath that Snafu doesn’t catch and practically runs out of the hall. But the Cajun doesn’t mind. Eugene will call him. He knows this. Eugene always calls. He finally notices the others that are looking at him and he throws them a shameless grin, chomping down on another forkful of eggs and shooting a wink at a table of girls a few tables over. Eugene will call him. Of this he is certain.

****

Text from Sledge to Snafu: done now. am free whenever. have a paper to write but can multitask?  
Text from Snafu to Sledge: took u long enough. too busy jacking off to the thought of me serenading u?  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: clearly. I took a shower, if you must know.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: so, are we meeting up or what? babe is going to be out, so tv here is free. call of duty?  
Text from Snafu to Sledge: already omw.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: dude, hold up. brb in 15 mins, gotta find a controller and the game. there’s something sticky on babe’s copy, and knowing who borrowed it last, I’m not going to inquire further.  
Text from Snafu to Sledge: lol. was it Luz? bet he tried to fuck it or something some1 offered him enough money.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: I said I’d rather NOT inquire further.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: sorry this is taking so long. have to beg Guarnere for his. where are you waiting, we can walk back up together?  
Text from Snafu to Sledge: while that sounds lovely romantic i’m already here. tell babe his beds too fluffy  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: what are you, daddy bear? I thought ron held that position. and stop breaking into my room. its a little a lot creepy. eta 2 mins.

****

“You got a letter from home.” Snafu says, indicating the envelope sitting on Eugene’s desk. Eugene has long since gotten over how Snafu manages to get into his dorm when his roommates are out. It is just something Snafu does, and if he’s picking the lock, Eugene would honestly rather not know about it. He turns his attention to the letter instead and picks it up, checking that the seal isn’t broken before glancing over at Snafu.

“How’d you know it’s from home?” He asks.

Snafu shrugs. “Probably the only place’d be sending you a letter. Little old fashioned, you think?”

Eugene returns the shrug sits on the edge of his bed, opposite Snafu, and opens the letter. He seems to take a very long time reading it. And though Snafu desperately wants to know what it says, he isn’t about to ask. Not with the way Eugene’s breathing is increasing, still quiet, but frantic. Hyper-ventilating. That place between panic and hysteria. Snafu watches the way Eugene’s gaze flits about the paper, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. He does not think Eugene will cry, especially not in his presence, but he can tell by Eugene’s reaction that this is that kind of news. But he cannot let on to that, so he says bluntly, “What’s the news from home, Sledgehamma’?”

At first Eugene doesn’t answer. He swallows, slowly. Without looking up. Then he says. “My dog died.”

They sit awkwardly for a moment, Eugene’s eyes still roving over the paper that shakes ever-so-slightly in his grip. It’s that wavering, that one small outward sign of Eugene’s distress, that drives Snafu to movement. He isn’t good at comfort, has never been good where dealing with others was concerned. But it’s Eugene Sledge. And Snafu just cannot handle that. He moves from the side of the bed, crosses the distance between them. And then he sort of curls himself around Eugene, letting his legs fall to either side of Eugene’s hips and pressing his face against Eugene’s neck. He keeps his hands pressed to Eugene’s back, unsure about wanting to actually hug his friend, but his fingers dig into the material of Eugene’s sweater and he figures it’s enough. It will get his point across.

Eugene stiffens at that first brazen touch, unused to treatment of this kind from Snafu of all people, but then he understands. He leans back into the half-embrace and he begins to sob. Snafu’s knees press into his thighs as his shoulders heave with the tears. The weight of them. Slowly he feels Snafu’s death-grip on his sweater loosen, and those hands work around his chest, pulling him back into an even tighter hug. The hesitant movement, how un-Snafu it is, forces its way into Eugene’s conscious, makes him cry harder. They stay like that for a long time. Long enough that Snafu feels like his arms are going numb from the awkward angle he’s worked them into. Not that he minds or cares at that moment. But when the numbness works its way to his shoulders, and Eugene’s tears show no sign of stopping or slowing, he knows he has to move. He readjusts his grip on Eugene and somehow manages to drag them both up the bed, until his back hits the headboard painfully. But even then he does not let go. He cannot.

Eugene cries for fifteen minutes without saying a word. Then he stops. Like it’s dried up. Run its course. Snafu does not let him go still, if anything he hugs him tighter. And Eugene is not bothered. The embrace is nice. Comforting. But strange in its own way. The air around them curdles, now that Eugene is not crying, and Snafu feels awkward.

“That was a lot of tears for a dog.” He says finally, lips moving against Eugene’s neck. Eugene stiffens again and Snafu wonders if it was the right thing to say, if it’s going to set Eugene to crying again, but then Eugene lets out a shaky breath and his shoulders slump with it.

“Yeah.” He mutters, freeing his arm from Snafu’s grip enough to wipe at his eyes. “You probably think I’m stupid.”

Snafu chuckles, the low rumble of it vibrating through both of them. “Nah,” he sighs, “not so much. Had me a rabbit once.” He continues without pause. “Parents got him coz they thought he’d make me more social or somethin’.”

Eugene twists around in Snafu’s arm, bringing his face intimately close to the Cajun’s, his nose brushing Snafu’s cheeks. But he doesn’t pull away. “A rabbit?” He echoes, unbelieving. He cannot imagine Snafu Shelton with a pet of any sort.

“Sho’. Named him Mister Bun, though I don’t rightly know that he was actually a boy. Used to take him for walks on this stupid little harness.” Snafu smiles, mostly to himself and continues. “I loved that little bastard. Begged my folks to let him in the house so’s he could sleep in my room with me.”

Eugene is uncomfortable with the frank honesty and trust on Snafu’s face. But that discomfort is crushed by the overwhelming weight of love he feels for him at the same time. He scoots closer, though it’s hardly possible, with the way they are already so tangled in one another, and balances a hand on Snafu’s knee. “How long did you have him?”

Snafu’s expression breaks, his reminiscent smile dropping into a frown. “’Bout three weeks.” He answers, not blinking at Eugene’s stunned expression. “Weasel or somethin’ got at him while he was locked in his hutch, nearly tore one of his legs off and ripped him up something awful. He wasn’t quite dead though, when I got out there that morning to feed him. Was still squirming around, kicking at some attacker that was long gone. He wasn’t gonna make it, even me as a kid knew that. I did him myself. Used a shovel and hit him hard as I could. Didn’t tell my parents that part. Just buried him and told them about the attack. Held him for five minutes before I could bring myself to get the shovel. I knew he was suffering and dying and all but I,” Snafu cuts himself off suddenly. Sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “But you don’t want to hear about all that.” He had spoken dispassionately, like he was listing off a grocery list as opposed to talking about the death of his only pet, but Eugene can see on his face, feel in his body, how much the incident rakes at him.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, quietly, his hand not moving from Snafu’s knee, pressing down harder in fact. Fingers curling into the fabric of Snafu’s trousers.

“Don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity.”

Snafu shrugs. “Wasn’t supposed to be about me. Mister Bun was years ago. You’re the one who--,”

But Eugene cannot handle that kind of martyrdom, not when he’s managed to uncover some of the Merriell in Snafu. He presses his face into Snafu’s neck, his hands raising to touch his face, effectively stalling whatever it was Snafu was about to say. And then he does the impossible. He raises his head. And he kisses Snafu. And for a second, just a second, Snafu hesitates; then he kisses back, pushing his lips against Eugene’s, his hands lifting to hold Eugene’s shoulders, pressing down hard. The intensity of that motion startles Eugene, makes him pull away from Snafu’s mouth with a little gasp. Snafu fills the void expertly, leaning forward seamlessly, sweeping his tongue along Eugene’s bottom lip.

Then he seems to remember where they are, or what they’re doing, or how this started or something, because suddenly he’s using that grip on Eugene to force him off and back. Holding him away, at arm’s length, though their legs are still touching, entwined. Eugene is about to ask what is the matter, though he isn’t sure he can find his voice through all the hurt of being pushed away, when Snafu beats him to the punch.

“What are you doing, Gene?” He asks. The significance of Eugene’s name and the expression on Snafu’s face say it all.

Eugene feels his stomach clench, the food he’d eaten earlier turning on him viciously, and he pulls his legs in, under him. He turns away mostly because he cannot stand to see the face that Snafu is pulling. Not so much mad as confused. Maybe a little hurt. And though Eugene cannot imagine what could make such a cocktail of emotions, he knows his kissing Snafu didn’t help. Was perhaps part of the cause. “I’m sorry.” He says, instinctively. Keeping his gaze firmly away from Snafu. “I just thought. I,” he swallows, throat hitching on the words he doesn’t know how to say. But Snafu seems perfectly content with waiting, his hand has lifted to touch at his lips gently. The action, so small and reverent makes Eugene want to kiss him again, to capture those fingers with his mouth and kiss them too. The thought makes him bold and frightens him at the same time.

It is suddenly too much for him to handle. Being in this room with Snafu who is too full of contradictions. Eugene cannot do it. He stands, not bothering to glance over at Snafu, and heads over to his desk, where his pipe is stashed for emergencies just such as this. Well, maybe not exactly like this. But close. He passes the letter from his parents on the way, where it has fallen on the ground, giving him news of his dog’s death. What started all of this ridiculous nonsense. He looks at Snafu as he picks it up, crumples it and throws it out. Challenges him to say anything. But Snafu doesn’t. He is still touching his lips, and there is a distance in him, in the way he is watching Eugene so carefully. Something not at all like how Snafu usually is. But Eugene cannot find the means to make himself care at the moment. He fishes out a pinch of tobacco and his pipe and leaves the room without another word.

Snafu stays where he is for another few moments, letting the weight of what has just occurred sink in. He had never in his life expected Eugene to kiss him, would have laid money to the opposite in fact. But when Eugene had and when it had been so clearly motivated by something other than base lust. But there were too many options beyond that. And more than anything, Snafu had feared that it was pity what drove Eugene to kiss him. He isn’t sure now though, in the quiet moments left in the wake of Eugene’s anger. He should have said something before Eugene stormed out, he knows this. Should have said what Eugene needed to hear. ‘I pushed you away because I love you and if you don’t love me back, I don’t want this.’ But that was so honest; Snafu is uncomfortable even having the thought. And how would have Eugene taken it?

He sighs heavily, removing his hand from his lips and running it through his hair, tugging on the strands. He leans back with the motion, balancing his head on top of the headboard. Then he moves, pushing himself to standing, following Eugene’s path to the wastebasket, where he pulls out the letter and smoothes it down, placing it in the drawer where Eugene keeps his Pop-tarts. Then he heads for the door. He will go find Eugene because it is what he needs to do. Because it is the right thing. And because he loves him. And that’s all there is to it.

 

Text from Snafu to Sledge: where r u? checked the usual spots but u werent there  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: fuck you.  
Text from Snafu to Sledge: u know i’ll go ask your roommates. u might as well just tell me save me the trouble. somebody will know where u are.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: I said fuck you, shelton.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: is that supposed to be some sort of threat? good luck, none of them know where I am.  
Text from Sledge to Snafu: I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want you to try and make it better and I don’t want to see you so can you just not.

Eugene puts his phone down, crossing his arms and puffing on his pipe. He is mad at Snafu and he is mad at himself and he hopes that Snafu will listen to him this time and just leave him alone, but he also knows that that is not how Snafu works. That he has maybe five more minutes of peace before the homing beacon that Snafu seems to have on him leads the Cajun right to him. If the lack of texts from the other tells Eugene anything, it’s that he probably has less than five. And he’s right.  
As he picks up his phone to send a fourth text, he hears the door behind him open and close. Hears Snafu’s low chuckle. “You sure do find the most remote hideouts, Sledgehamma’.” He says, crossing from the door to the chest-high edge of the roof. “Didn’t think freshman were supposed to use the apartment roofs.”

Eugene ignores the bait, takes another long drag off of his pipe. “How’d you even find me, Snaf?”

“Followed the scent of that pipe, Gene. Didn’t anyone ever tell you, I’m part Injin, can follow smoke signs from miles off.”

“That isn’t funny. I told you not to come.”

Snafu smiles at that. Plucks the pipe from Eugene’s mouth, checks the bowl and takes a puff. “You tell me a lot of things.” He says, checking the bowl again then emptying the ash off the side of the roof. “I’m just not a good listener, I guess.” He shrugs over the words, passing the pipe back and leaning back on his elbows. “There are a lot of things you don’t say though too. So, I think I should get a pass.”

“A pass?” Eugene echoes, tapping the pipe against his arm. “No. Not this time. You can’t tell me that,” but he doesn’t know where he’s going with the thought, and the look that Snafu is giving him, somewhere between interested and knowing and sly, is driving him crazy. “Look,” he says, deciding to start with the idea fresh, work through it step at a time, “I – I didn’t just do that because I. Fuck. I just. I really put myself out there, Snaf. And you pushed me away.”

Snafu’s eyebrow cocks, but he smiles. “So I’m not allowed to turn down your advances?”

“Fuck you, you know what I mean. You kissed me back.” It feels juvenile, saying it; makes Eugene feel stupid and young. Reminds him where he is in this situation, the freshman kid with the crush like a middle school brat.

Snafu watches the flurry of emotions running over Eugene’s face, the slight pink they leave on his cheeks. He didn’t blush before, when he kissed Snafu and had been pushed away. He hadn’t been embarrassed, just angry. And that tells Snafu something. He reaches forward and puts and hand on Eugene’s shoulder, calculating the way Eugene shivers at the touch, pulls away slightly. “You know, Eugene,” he says, knowing that power that name seems to hold, catching the way that Eugene’s eyes light up involuntarily at its use, “if you loved me, you could have just told me.”

Eugene’s expression flickers, lips trembling just the slightest, then he curls his shoulders out of Snafu’s grip. “That isn’t funny, either.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Sure you weren’t. You kiss me back and you stalk me up here and it’s all, ‘you could have told me’. Of course I couldn’t tell you. Because you’d make fun of me just like you’re doing now. Glad my emotions are a game to you, Shelton. I’m really fucking glad.” And then he’s storming out again, because it’s the only way he knows how to deal with Snafu and the serious stuff. He’s a touch surprised when Snafu catches his arm, whirls him around, bringing them face-to-face. But he’s more confused by the lack of amusement in Sanfu’s expression, the determined set of his lips.

“Look, Gene, you can be as mean to me as you want.” He says, all low and deadly serious. “But don’t try to tell me how I feel regarding anything. You want to be an asshole, sitting up here smoking your pipe and hating everyone, go ahead, you son of a bitch. It doesn’t matter cuz I fuckin’ love you too. So thanks for even considering that possibility.” It’s as frank as Snafu has ever been about anything and Eugene is left speechless by the confession. How it twists inside him, coiling and uncoiling, much like breathing.

“You,” Eugene exhales, not knowing what to say, not sure he believes what he’s heard, “you mean, you.”

“Don’t get all sappy about it, Sledgehamma’.” Snafu says, his eyes narrowing, the residue of his anger still apparent, sticking to the edges of his words like duct tape, despite the confession. “Now you go on. Tramp down off this roof in your huffy-huff.” But Eugene doesn’t move. And the anger in Snafu circulates, renewing itself. “I told you to go.” He says, moving toward Eugene, intending to push him or punch him or throw him off the roof or something, but as soon as he gets close, as soon his hand closes over Eugene shoulder, Eugene makes a sound, sort of like a man drowning or losing his mind and he falls against Snafu. His arms wrap about Snafu’s torso, pulling the Cajun closer. His face is against Snafu’s neck and the solid weight of his body almost knocks Snafu off-balance. Complete surrender. The anger, though it was more pride than actual rage, flees in the face of such trust and it’s all Snafu can do to raise his own arms and hug Eugene back.

“I’m sorry,” Eugene is saying, over and over against his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Snafu’s skin is wet where Eugene’s face is pressed, and he can tell from how erratic Eugene’s breathing has become, that he is crying. Not the melt down from earlier that day, nothing even close to that scale, but tears. “I’m sorry.”

Snafu doesn’t pull away from the embrace to see if he’s right or not, he just presses a kiss to Eugene’s temple and mumbles, “Sort of a crybaby deep down, aren’t you?”

And Eugene sniffs and chuckles and nods, his hair tracking under Snafu’s nose, silky and perfect. “Guess I sorta am.” He mutters. And Snafu can feel the smile that follows those words on his skin. Eugene’s lips are dry, like wax-paper or the stuff candy wrappers are made of. Snafu skates a hand along the line of Eugene’s body until he reaches his chin, tilts his face up. Meets the grin with one of his own. Then kisses those offending lips. Eugene’s response is immediate. He pushes up, though the two are nearly the same height, his arms lifting to twine around Snafu’s neck, holding tightly.

His kiss is desperate somehow, broken with longing; Snafu shivers with the thought. Breaks away from the contact of their mouths with a muttered curse, ignoring Eugene’s whimper at the loss, and maneuvering the two of them back, around and down. He pushes Eugene to sitting, following to straddle his lap, mouth hovering, never far from Eugene’s. But it isn’t enough, being so close but not close enough. Snafu pushes their lips together again, his hands gripping the sides of Eugene’s face, tilting his head. Their teeth clash more than once, knocking painfully but Snafu can’t find it in him to care. And while Eugene is making slight noises at each clip, small, involuntary whines, Snafu finds each sound is going straight to his gut. Cutting clear through his system.

He bites Eugene’s lip, bites down maybe harder than strictly necessary, just to hear the groan it produces. He is not disappointed in the results. Eugene keens, his breathing hopping up an octave, whistling through his nose, pushing out of his throat. His hands, which have fisted in Snafu’s pants, clutch down harder, fingers scrabbling like he has no idea what he wants to do with them. And Snafu knows he really doesn’t know what to do with them. One too many drunk bonding sessions has led to Snafu’s absolute knowledge on all things Sledge and sex. Sadly, or maybe luckily, as the case may be, this file is rather base. A kiss or two in high school. But nothing near as serious as what Snafu intends to pursue.

“Gene,” he mutters once he’s claimed his lips back enough to speak, “Gene, you gotta listen to me.” Eugene hisses at the use of his name, some slurred mixture of ‘fuck’ and ‘Merriell’ and altogether too intimate for Snafu to protest. Whatever he was going to say is killed by that sound, that half-grunted curse.

Snafu’s hand drops to the waistband of Eugene’s pants, rubs up under his shirt, touching his abdomen but going the wrong way, going up not down, not where he needs it, no matter how nice is. Eugene makes another high, keening noise and thrusts his hips up as best he can, which isn’t very much considering he’s holding Snafu’s full weight on his lap. His motions seem to catch Snafu’s interest though, the Cajun chuckling against his lips, hand reversing mid-stroke, dropping unceremoniously from Eugene’s stomach to his crotch, cupping him fully. Holding him against his palm.

Even that, that small push against his erection is enough. Eugene writhes against the pressure, pushing his hips up wantonly. His hand has found its way around the back of Snafu’s neck, fingers tangling in Snafu’s hair. His other hand holds Snafu’s arm, just below the shoulder, hoping to keep the Cajun in place as he fights closer to that edge. He thrusts, reaching, grappling, trying to make the pressure right, more solid, more hot, more something and Snafu chuckles again. The sound forces Eugene’s eyes open. Their gazes meet. And he realizes that Snafu has just been watching him this entire time. Just watching. As Eugene practically humped the life out of his hand.

Eugene blushes, humiliated, and chokes and Snafu laughs again and suddenly there isn’t any more time to be embarrassed. Because the fingers pressed against him are moving, unzipping his jeans and popping the button. And there’s only one thing that can follow that. Snafu’s skin is warm, his nails, which scrape Eugene briefly as he delves into the now open plackets of Eugene’s pants, are bitten unevenly. It speaks volumes. About Snafu. About them. Eugene doesn’t know and doesn’t care. He crushes his lips against Snafu’s at the contact. Has to. He is aware, despite his hedonistic actions, that the two of them are very much in public. And while the thought doesn’t bother him enough to want to stop, he certainly doesn’t want to have to answer any questions as to why he was panting and cursing on the roof. Or worse, answer questions as to why the two of them were fucking there at all.

Fucking. The thought does it. Eugene bites hard at Snafu’s mouth, trying to quell the wave that is suddenly too much for him. Too high to conquer. And then he’s coming, muscles snapping and seizing, arms and legs trembling as he lets out all over Snafu’s hand, his own stomach. Snafu kisses him through it, captures every noise Eugene makes as he makes it. Eugene wonders briefly, through the white-noise that’s his orgasm roaring through him, if Snafu will keep those sounds somewhere, stored under his tongue or in his mind, or something, these stolen sounds of his innocence coming undone.

“You okay, Gene?” Snafu asks against his cheek, lips rubbing over his skin as he speaks; the vague blush of his stubble a new and intoxicating feeling. Eugene turns his head slightly, nuzzling, unwilling to lose that sensation, when Snafu says his name again, lower this time. More like a sob than anything else Eugene has ever heard uttered from Snafu’s lips. Eugene opens his eyes, finds Snafu’s gaze. The expression, the naked longing in those grey eyes, makes Eugene whimper again, his cock twitching slightly.

He lifts his hand from its death-grip on Snafu’s arm and runs it down his front, not stopping until he’s pressed against Snafu’s crotch. A reversal of positions, of sorts, and Eugene can see now why Snafu had been staring at him so. The flickering degrees of arousal across Snafu’s face are beautiful, heartbreakingly sincere. And somewhere in Eugene’s mind it registers that this should be about lust and only lust; that they are boys and, worse, they are experimenting, and that love has no business in this business, but then Snafu groans and Eugene forgets. He cannot help the love that shivers through him at the sound.

“Touch me.” Snafu says, his breath coming out like a gasp. Desperate.

Eugene hastens to obey; fingers tangling in themselves to get Snafu’s trousers unsnapped and pushed down, along with underwear. He is already hard, but Eugene takes a cruel moment to study the anatomy before him, the way Snafu’s cock curls up slightly, the husky mix of rose and caramel that make up its color. But then Snafu makes another noise, so much like the keens that Eugene himself was making, minutes ago, and Eugene cuts to the chase. Wraps his hand around Snafu’s cock and tugs forward, slowly. Watching the shift of every sensation as it hits. Snafu groans, leans into the touch. His weight is no longer pressing down on Eugene’s lap, but has transferred to his knees as he sits up straighter. His arm finds the top of the low wall they’re pressed to and his fingers curl around the edge, concrete digging back painfully. But not painful enough. Eugene builds something of a rhythm, though the angle is awkward on his wrist, and slowly Snafu builds a counter rhythm, moving his hips back and forward slightly.

“Tighter.” He hisses, lips brushing through Eugene’s hair, voice trembling. “Hold tighter. Nnnh. Just like that.” Eugene glances up, meeting Snafu’s gaze, though the Cajun’s eyelids keep sliding lower, like he cannot keep them up. The hand not holding him up slides through Eugene’s hair and then down his cheek, thumb resting below Eugene’s eye. Eugene can feel Snafu’s pulse in that thumb, and in his cock, it is erratic and maddening and arousing and right. He moves his hand faster in response. Snafu’s reaction is priceless. “Fuck.” He whispers, low and drawn out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t stop, Eugene.”

Not that Eugene would, or could for that matter. Snafu’s hand drops slightly, forgotten apparently under the onslaught of feeling, and Eugene catches the fingers in his mouth, sucks on them lightly, never losing eye contact with Snafu. It seems to do the trick; that added touch of incentive. Snafu groans out, “Gene,” low and gasping, his forehead pushing against his arm, eyes closing, body smoothing into one taut line of pleasure. His cock twitches in Eugene’s hand, and suddenly everything is slick. Eugene keeps pulling anyway, even when some of it hits him on the cheek, where Snafu’s fingers had so recently rested, he milks Snafu through it all, until Snafu sighs and slumps over him and the contact is broken.

They lay still for a few minutes, Eugene petting Snafu’s hair, Snafu’s face resting on his collar, staining his shirt with sweat. Not that Eugene cares. He could lay here forever. Would do it too, but then Snafu moves. Sits up and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair with a shaky sort of laugh. Eugene wonders if the moment feels awkward for Snafu, although he himself feels nothing but satisfied. Wonders if Snafu will regret it now that it’s done. But he can’t bring himself to ask. They’ve had too much honesty between them, enough for one day.

He will not ask ‘where are we now?’ Besides, he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. ‘On the roof’ Snafu would answer, with that stupid, adorable, knowing smile. But it’s more than that. They are where they are. At least for now. Somewhere between I love you and I love you forever. And that’s enough for Eugene. And will be. Forever. He’s basically positive.

“Never took you for an exhibitionist.” Snafu grins, tucking himself away and doing up the buttons. His legs are still resting against Eugene’s; though he has moved back some. “You got a little,” he makes a motion, toward Eugene’s face and that smile breaks over his features again, wider this time. Eugene follows the direction, wiping at his face, at Snafu’s cum. He looks at it, clinging to his wrist across his palm. A majority of it was wiped on his pants, but not this bit. Deliberately, he licks it off, cocking his eyebrow at Snafu as he does so. Snafu makes a small, choked sound at that, face twisting and Eugene thinks that he might jump him again, but then the moment passes.

Eugene stands, smiling down at Snafu, and offers him a hand, which Snafu takes. “Snaf.” He starts, though he promised himself he wouldn’t.

Snafu’s soft kiss cuts him off. It starts at his cheek, lips brushing just under his eye, and then drops to his lips. It is far more intimate than their other kisses and it answers all of Eugene’s questions in one tender motion. When they part, Snafu sniffs, rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “You had,” he says, looking away, “you missed some’s all.” He mumbles.

“Thanks.”

“S’not a big deal.” Snafu says, hand dropping to his side. Their other hands are still clasped together, fingers entangling. Eugene squeezes them lightly, but doesn’t mention it. Snafu sniffs again. “Anyway, Sledgehamma’, I dunno about you, but I’m starving. Think they’ll be serving lunch yet?”

Eugene smiles. “I just ate breakfast.”

“And I watched you. Now you can watch me.” He says, pulling on Eugene to get him moving. Eugene gives one last look over his shoulder, to the low wall where they had pressed together so tightly, and then he follows, before Snafu gets out of his grasp.

****

Text from Babe to Sledge: r you alive? haven’t seen you in, idk, awhile. if your dead you have to tell me, I’m your roommate.  
Text from Sledge to Babe: I’m alive, doing fine. sorry I haven’t been around. been kinda busy.  
Text from Babe to Sledge: papers? did you do the eng essay? Web proofed mine. dont let him do yours. he’s mean.  
Text from Sledge to Babe: shit! no, I forgot about the essay. ffffffkkkkk uhm, be back asap. time’s it due again?  
Text from Babe to Sledge: forgot? shit dude. due at midnight. I’ll boot up your lappy.  
Text from Sledge to Babe: boot up my lappy? sounds hot, I’ll see you in five tops.  
Text from Sledge to Babe: honestly, who makes a paper due on a saturday anyway?  
Text from Babe to Sledge: lol dunno. laptops on, I even opened word and made your heading. other than that you got an hour.  
Text from Sledge to Babe: awesome. you are the best :D

****

Eugene has been working on the essay for twenty minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Babe looks over at Eugene, who shrugs. Knocking is not a common occurrence on this floor, especially not at this hour. Eugene makes a vague motion at his laptop and Babe takes the hint, answers the door. To a very nervous looking Snafu. Babe blinks, steps back, more surprised than Eugene even and looks back at his roommate again.

“You all right, Shelton? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you knock before.” Babe chuckles. “You sick or something?” He asks, raising his hand like he’s going to gauge Snafu’s temperature from his forehead. Snafu moves back from the contact slightly, eyes flying to Eugene.

“Babe.” Eugene says, standing to cross the room. Babe and Snafu both look at him and the moment is awkward and tense, so much so, Eugene almost doesn’t know how to handle it. And then he does. “Can you,” he shuffles, rubs the back of his neck, mimicking Snafu unintentionally, “can you keep a secret? From everyone, Babe. I’m not kidding. You can’t even tell Roe.”

Babe looks back and forth, from Snafu to Eugene and back, his eyes narrowing, trying to piece where Eugene is going. “Are you guys cheating or something?” He asks, under his breath. “Is he going to help with your essay, Sledge?”

Eugene could almost kiss Babe for being so innocent. It’s hard to believe, on a floor like theirs with the likes of their suitemates, and what with Babe’s rather less than kosher relationship with Roe. But he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Not quite. We’re just.”  
“Have some things to work out.” Snafu says quietly, still framed by the door. He smiles that not-quite-there smile in Babe’s direction.

Eugene frowns. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t say it like that, Snaf. It’s we’re.” He stops himself. Looks right at Snafu. “I’m sorry, but what exactly is it we’re working out?” He can’t help the touch of disbelief in his voice, the way his tone pinches with his hurt.  
“Dunno, Sledgehamma’.” Snafu says, shrugging. “Just seemed like you didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, I didn’t. But that’s not the point.” Eugene ignores the clear confusion painted on Babe’s face and presses on. “There isn’t anything to work out, is there? Did I miss something, or something?”

“I feel like I’m missing something.” Babe volunteers from between the two of them, hand raising like he’s in grade school. “Should I go get Dick? Or Lip?” He looks between the two of them again. “You guys aren’t going to start beating each other up or something are you?”

Snafu chuckles again, rolling his shoulders and leaning against the frame of the door. “Not gonna come to those blows.” He says, smirking. And though Babe doesn’t get it, Eugene mostly does.

“That’s what this is about?” He asks, incredulous. “I told you I’d come back when I was done.”

Snafu shrugs again, a small motion under the sweater he’s donned. “You didn’t answer my texts.” He mumbles. “Thought maybe you’d changed your mind or something.” Snafu’s face is red, the tone clashes with honey color of his skin, pulls on something in Eugene’s chest. He can’t keep himself from smiling, though the thought of Snafu wandering down the hall to find him after twenty minutes of being alone should be pathetic, not sweet. But it’s sweet all the same.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Eugene says, forgetting Babe, reaching forward and stroking a finger down Snafu’s cheek. “And I put my phone on silent. I didn’t know you texted me.”

Babe clears his throat, manages to duck past Snafu and escape out into the hallway. “I,” he swallows and studies them again then, mutters, “I think I’ll just leave you two alone if that’s okay. I wanted to go see Gene anyway and this seems like as good a time as any so I’ll do that. Don’t worry, Sledge, I’m not gonna tell. Text me if it’s safe to come back later.” He says it in one breath, like it’s the last thing he can muster before he dies of the blush that’s staining his cheeks.

Eugene looks back at him, though it takes a lot for him to drag his gaze off of Snafu. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, “that’d be really great Babe.” Babe nods back and then scurries off. When he’s gone, Eugene steps back, let’s Snafu in. He returns to his laptop while Snafu loiters by the door, shuffles his feet. “You can sit, Snaf. You know that.”

Snafu shakes his head, leans back against the closed door, biting his lip. Replacing it with his fingertip, nibbling the nail. “It was dumb.” He says, looking down, away from Eugene. “To worry. I guess.” He taps his foot against the edge of the door. “Sorry.”  
Eugene laughs, then notices Snafu’s expression and stops. “Don’t apologize.” He says. “I’m not mad. It’s kinda sweet you were worried.”

“You mean it’s sad.” Snafu clarifies, not flinching away from Eugene’s gaze. “Don’t play pretty words with me, Sledgehamma’. I know when it’s pathetic. When you’re just indulgin’ me.” He swallows. “Didn’t stop me though, guess.” He wipes the back of his hand under his nose, all at once childish and vulnerable and sexy. “Didn’t know Babe was here. Sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Eugene says, turning his eyes back to his computer, the two pages of bullshit he’s already concocted. “Sit with me?” He pats the bed next to him. Snafu makes a noise in his throat, the start of some negative affirmation, and then he moves over to the bed, sits gingerly. Eugene looks at him sharply, leans in, over his computer. “Snaf,” he whispers, hand tracking out to touch Shelton’s hand, “I wiped your cum off my face today, don’t get coy with me now.”

The words seem to ease Snafu somewhat. He scoots over, more fully onto the bed, his back resting on the pillows, knee brushing Eugene’s. “Mmm. Guess you have a point.” He sighs, casting a sidelong glance at Eugene. “How’d that taste, by the way?” He asks, enjoying the slight sputter Eugene gives at the question.

“We’re not talking about this right this second, Shelton.” He says, holding his finger up. “Hear me? Not right now. You’re welcome to stay, but no talking. That’s the rule. I have like fifteen minutes to make up another page and have this essay turned in and I will not let you distract me from it, ‘kay?”

Snafu grins, slow and steady like always. “Sho’ thing, Gene.” Then he tips his head. “There’ll be a prize, right? Can’t have rules with no prizes.” But Eugene looks at him like he’s going to throw him out, so Snafu snorts, raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay, Sledgehamma’, I’m being quiet.”

And amazingly, he is quiet. For the entire twenty minutes it takes Eugene to finish his paper. Snafu indulges himself with thoughts of what Eugene looked like as he came, face scrunched like he was almost in pain, the way his teeth had bit into Snafu’s lips. After that, after they’d come down off that roof and had eaten, things had slid back into the normal routine. Like nothing had happened. But at the same time, Snafu found himself hyperaware of Eugene, when their arms would brush, or shoulders bump. The small ways Eugene found of somehow always keeping contact with Snafu through touches. Things he had never noticed before, but that felt natural. More natural than anything. They had headed back to Snafu’s room after the food, Snafu had stretched out on the couch, his head resting on Eugene’s lap and they had watched television, like every other Saturday. Except this time, when Snafu made some joke about blow jobs, Eugene’s leg had tightened under his head. There hadn’t been a lot of talking after that beyond the slight whine of Eugene’s breathing as the two kissed. And then Eugene’s cell had rung, interrupting all activities. Snafu had been worried that perhaps the text was an excuse, to go running away from what they’d started. What Eugene had started precisely, and that thought had cycled and recycled until Snafu found himself standing outside of Sledge’s door, only half-knowing why he was there.

“I’m finished.” Eugene mutters, rubbing his eyes and closing his laptop. He sighs, scoots down and leans against Snafu, his head cradled in the seam of his body, face resting on Snafu’s narrow chest.

They lay quietly, a parody of earlier on the roof, though this time they can indulge in it. Eugene’s arm wraps around Snafu’s middle, holds him close. Somehow Snafu’s hand finds its way into Eugene’s hair, pets the short strands. Snafu can feel Eugene’s breath against his chest, can feel the slight rise and fall of his stomach. Those breaths extend and deepen, soothing. “You sleepin’, Gene?” He asks, shifting slightly so he can look down at Eugene’s expression. Eugene shrugs without opening his eyes.  
“Probably.” He mutters. “But it’s nicer than outside.” His eyes do open then, and he sits up slightly, studying Snafu’s face. “Will you be here? Tomorrow? With me, like this? Like this morning?” He asks, still uncertain despite his certainty. It’s the devil-may-care in Snafu that he fears, the essential thing that makes Snafu so Snafu. He fears, despite the Cajun’s declaration, and his own feelings, that he’ll wake up tomorrow and Snafu simply will no longer care.

Snafu grins, presses a kiss to Eugene’s forehead. “Sho’ I’ll be here, you want it.” He says slowly. “Now go to sleep, Gene.” Eugene cannot help the spontaneous smile at the use of his name, wonders if it will ever lose the butterfly-effect it has on him. He hopes not. Then he glues himself to the side of Snafu’s body, and in no time has worked himself back up into a zone of sleep. With his hand tangled in Eugene’s hair, Snafu is not long to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, leave comments or kudos if you feel so inclined.


End file.
